


let me breathe you in 'til gravity bends

by secretsarenotforfree



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: (a favorite tag of mine), F/M, First Times, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, a lot of parantheses, and, and practice safe sex kids!, basically they love each other, mentions of - Freeform, this was supposed to be a short one shot and i don't know what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsarenotforfree/pseuds/secretsarenotforfree
Summary: If she pushed it, it couldn’t possibly end up well for him either. He meant too much to her to drag him more fully into her bad luck. So she kept her distance. And cheered on him and Evita even when on the inside she wanted to be the one on his mind instead and she wanted -Well it didn’t matter what Tandy wanted, did it.It scarcely ever came true.





	let me breathe you in 'til gravity bends

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly...i have no idea what the hell happened. i wanted to write for them, i planned this as a smutty oneshot, and then it was writing day #2 and i wasn't even CLOSE to where i was trying to get to with this. here we are at the end of this, and i have 7500 words of my kids being extremely soft and head over heels without being able to admit it to each other. as always, i'm a big ass hoe for feedback, so anything is welcome. in my mind, tandy and tyrone are 18/19, so take of that what you will. 
> 
> also if you have not seen season two (if not what are you DOING i've rewatched the finale at least three times) don't read this!! there be spoilers.
> 
> title is from 'surefire' by john legend, the most tandy x tyrone song i've heard with my own ears so far.

He smells like coffee. It’s ridiculous because he doesn’t even drink the stuff, swears he’s good when Tandy offers (she rolls her eyes because she honestly couldn’t function without the stuff), but he does. It’s rich, and aromatic, and she can smell it when she borrows (steals) his St. Sebastian’s sweater. It wafts from his skin when he’s working out, surrounds her when he hugs her, and she’s terrified to admit how attached she is to it. One whiff of that, and Tandy knows that she’s safe. She’s home. And she wants more of it, over her skin and under her tongue. 

Right now, it’s a hell of a distraction to Tandy, head lolled to the side on an arm leaned on a sitting Ty’s shoulder. He’s explaining something to her about his chemistry homework (he claims he can puzzle it out better when he works through it aloud, oftentimes with her as his audience), and she stopped paying attention long ago. Her eyes are half lidded, and her mouth was actually (end her, this is so embarrassing), _watering_ , mind briefly wandering to what it might be like if the black t-shirt he was wearing suddenly disappeared, and her hands would be resting on him instead.

“Tandy.”

“Hmm?” She blinks out of it, the pupils in honey brown eyes focusing, and realizes that his face is turned towards hers, the softest of one sided smiles on his cheek. Their quiet moments were some of her favorites, Tandy thought, when there was no pressing danger or place to be and his eyes warmed the way they did now. She didn’t know when she’d given into acknowledging it, this _thing_ in her chest when it came to Ty, but she’d known she’d always been attracted to him. Flirting with him at that bonfire had been the easiest con that Tandy ever pulled. She’d wanted him before he went from Tyrone to Ty, but it hadn’t been before Tyrone had Evita, and for all the stunts she pulled Tandy always respected that. Ty was good - he was _too_ good at times, vastly better than her, and he cared about her. Actually cared, like called to check up on her, made sure she was safe, the only person in this world she counted on, cared about her. Getting her feelings involved could only stand to jeopardize this, and she couldn’t live with that. A life without Ty was no longer one she could live anymore.

“There you go again. I’m really boring you to death, aren’t I?”

“Okay, so sue me for not finding AP chemistry as riveting as you think you make it.” She pushes off his shoulders to take a seat farther away from him, but doesn’t miss the way said shoulders shake with a second of silent laughter, the swipe of his tongue against a full bottom lip when he gets back to his self assigned homework. She wishes he’d spread her out over the desk instead. Apply that single minded focus and attentiveness to her (legs draped around his head, toes curled), not balancing an equation.

The blonde doesn’t realize she’s biting her lip until it’s been entirely too long and blinks, jumping off the table. “I’ll be back later,” she announces, slinging her ballet bag over the table. “I wanted to try and get in some extra practice before class tomorrow morning.” 

It’s only half true. Dancing was the least violent way to get out her frustrations, and if it wasn’t someone inflicting their darkness on the innocent, Ty got her there more often that not. 

The boy insisted on having conversations with her while he finished his workouts, gold chain flashing against rich brown skin glistening with sweat. HIs breathing got rougher near the end, heavy bursts occasionally partnered with a grunt, and it did things to her Tandy wasn’t willing to admit. She’d replay those in her head later at night with her hand between her legs, skin slightly luminous while she filled her head with his face, his grin, the smooth gravel of his voice, the rasp of his basketball callouses against her cheek when she’d gotten an eyelash there last week. Thinking about someone who was in a relationship in that context wasn’t taboo, Tandy thought; after all, who hadn’t rubbed one out to Orlando Bloom? (If you say you haven’t, you’re lying. Will Turner could get it any day of the week.)

But still. Jesus Christ, her mind had really sunken into the gutter with every month that passed with him in hiding. Maybe it was all the one on one time with him, too many hours filled with his gently teasing commentary during a showing of _The Philadelphia Story_ , their legs just brushing underneath a quilted blanket. Too many nights spent experimenting with their powers, lying on their sides while they faced each other, letting their smoky darkness and luminous light flow. 

_I can feel you_ , she whispered, tendrils of his inky mist lapping at the light that suffused her form. _It’s not warm, really, or cold. it just is. The closest thing I could think to liken it too is smoky steam, if that makes sense. But it feels like you, Ty. I know it’s you._

_Yours is intangible. Kind of like how you can feel the sun, even if you can’t really touch it. Though it’s not hot at all._ Tyrone’s lip curls, arm beneath his hoodie. _It’s not nearly as crazy as you are._

Tandy had squinted at him, but what she’d really wanted to do was move closer to him. Hear him say that with the warmth of his breath on her cheek, eyes close to his own. She wanted to look her fill of cheekbones altogether too perfect to be real, thick lashes, dense fro and slight smile. 

Yeah. She definitely needed some alone time. Fighting down the tiny flush on her cheeks, Tandy marches out of the church like it’s her mission to do so, tight jeans striding with determination. 

She did not know, nor realize that he watched her walk away.

(In Tyrone’s defense, it was awfully hard not to look at Tandy Bowen leave a room)

* * *

He had no right.

Absolutely no right, not really, when Evita and he hadn’t exactly ended things last time they talked, and Tandy was his _friend_ and so many people had let her down in life, and she was fragile. God, Tandy could be so fragile, and so strong at the same time. He was in awe of her.

He didn’t even know if Evita knew he was alive or not, but it had been months. By degree of separation, they weren’t a thing anymore, right? The times that Ty checked in on her had become far and in between, because if he was being honest, he’d rather be spending time with Tandy. 

His powers knew it too. Sometimes, when he practiced late at night, nothing better to do than hone his teleporting, search for the smoky whoosh in his ears that took him from place to place, using his will to reach out to a place he couldn’t see to channel it through him, more often than not it took him to her. Going from Here to There, There being behind the doors of the ballet studio she practiced that, or at the cemetery where she was glaring angrily and sniping passive aggressive (mostly aggressive) statements at her father's grave.

Once, embarrassingly, it had been her bedroom at her mom’s place, the summer a sticky sweet humid reminder than they lived in the south. His chest was bare under the hoodie, wearing nothing but the slim gold necklace Billy once wore and boxers under basketball shorts. She was sprawled on her stomach, face pressed against the pillow and a strand of flaxen gold hair floating up and back to pink lips. The sheets were tangled around bared legs, and his shadows were jealous of the breeze that brushed against them. 

_We could do that. We could do better._ They seem to say, and it takes him longer than he’s proud of to get them under control. Sometimes Ty wonders if he’s competing with his own powers for who lusts after the pleasure of touching her more. 

Before he could cloak away, her brow furrowed in sleep, and one eye cracked sleepily open. “Ty? Is that you? What’re you doing here?”

Tyrone was suddenly grateful that the low whirring of the fan made it harder to hear how fast his heart was beating. The simple cotton t-shirt that she wore was _his_ , unless Tyrone was hallucinating things (he wasn’t), and when Tandy shifted he could see the faint swell of her nipples under the fabric. The legs tangled in silver sheets were bared, inches of skin his gaze climbed up higher and higher to the curve of simple blue panties. He couldn't help the way he was suddenly hyper aware of every part of her, and his fingers twitched.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t able to sleep, so I was practicing. Ended up here.”

Tandy was silent for a moment, the sheets balled in a tiny bundle near her cheek, still only keeping one eye slightly cracked. There’s a slight rumble outside, the warning of a thunderstorm approaching the only thing heard in the room for a moment that for Tyrone was entirely too long. “I get it. The church used to get kind of creepy and too empty while I stayed there too. I think it’s the open space.” She hesitated for a moment, but eventually Tandy scooted to the side of the bed. “You can stay, if you want.”

Most of him (about ninety percent) couldn’t believe he’d heard what he’d just heard. He couldn’t. He can’t. But he wanted to. Oh my god, did Tyrone want to. Evita flashed through his mind, a slight shade of guilt of feelings that had lessened and dissipated, but he pushed it away. _It’s just his best friend,_ he tried to tell himself when he asked “Is that okay with you?” and Tandy just closed her cracked eye, snuggling back in and sighing. 

“Just get in, Ty.”

_Ty._ She almost never called him Tyrone anymore, to the point that if his full name passed from her lips it was paired with “frickin Johnson” and a bunch of compliments that made his ears burn to receive, or she was too worried about him to shorten it. Tandy was the only one that called him that, not Evita, not his parents, not his old friends at St. Sebastian’s - and he liked that. Liked the way she said it, too. _Ty_. He never wanted her to stop saying his name like that.

He certainly liked the way that Tandy’s sheets smelled like her when he slid under the them, sans hoodie, night air and lavender, her favorite guilty pleasure scent. Tyrone’s eyes caught for a moment on the rounded lush of her ass as the thin fabric gets settled, leaves a careful distance between them. Her back is turned to him, and the fall of his t-shirt revealed the last inch of the slight slope of her spine. 

“G’night, Ty.”

“Goodnight, Tandy.”

The fall of her short blonde hair, illuminated by a slat of moonlight from her window, was the last thing Tyrone saw before going to sleep that night, her presence so close to him setting peace to his mind quicker than he’d have thought. They sleep through the thunderstorm, and in the middle of the night he half wakes up, for a reason he can’t comprehend at first. There was no longer a careful few inches between them, Tandy’s head tucked beneath his, his arms around her shoulders. Their legs were tangled together in a way that Tyrone couldn’t help but feel so right, and her arms were folded against her chest. One of Tandy’s hands lay flat against his chest, his beating heart beneath her palm, and Tyrone suddenly didn’t want anything else but this, for as long as he could have it. 

This, yeah. This was good. 

Living like an outlaw in an abandoned church, cut off from nearly everything in your life, you learned to find the good parts of life and never let go. Hours later, the temperature had dropped in the wake of the storm, and Melissa Bowen knocked on her daughter’s door at about seven AM the next day, asking if she was still going to ballet practice. It jolted them both out of sleep so abruptly that Tyrone cloaked to the church, taking the sheet with him.

Tandy brought his hoodie back later that day, and they didn’t talk about all the places their bodies had wrapped around each other just the night before.

(Right before the knock had sounded, a thing had happened. Tyrone’s body may be a conduit to some sort of misty other world, but it was still zinging with hormones, and Tandy was a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl that Tyrone would do frankly dangerous and stupid things in order to protect, and who was wearing his shirt and no shorts, body pressed into his all night. He was only human. The second before he cloaks, their eyes meet, and he knows that she can feel his morning wood pressing into her thigh. Then he's gone, and she's left alone in her bed. 

They never talk about _that_ either.)

* * *

_He’s her best friend._

It’s what Tandy tells herself whenever she finds her gaze lingering too long at his half smile, top teeth pressed into his bottom lip, or when she finds her heart breaking on the thought of being alone without him, and lies to herself some more. _She doesn’t ever want to be more._

To be honest, more scared her. Scared her shitless. Tandy wanted him too badly - she cared about him too much - this couldn’t possibly end well for her. If she pushed it, it couldn’t possibly end up well for him either. He meant too much to her to drag him more fully into her bad luck. So she kept her distance. And cheered on him and Evita even when on the inside _she_ wanted to be the one on his mind instead and _she wanted_ -

Well it didn’t matter what Tandy wanted, did it.

It scarcely ever came true.

If she wanted something, she had to get it done herself, and her daggers wouldn’t give her the solution to this one. Hell, her heart barely knew how to deal with the problem, much less find a solution.

(Worst of all, Tandy really did genuinely like Evita. She was smart and phenomenal, and didn’t let Tyrone get too far into his head to see the simple solutions to things. She looked damn good in her tour shirt and denim skirt, and knew more about the city than Tandy ever would. She was the kind of girl who should be with Ty, would be good for Ty.)

(No matter how loudly her insides seem to shriek that that’s _her_ Ty.)

(No one else’s.)

Then came Mayhem. And girls, stolen off the street to provide more capital in a bank of misery. Girls she’d judged. Girls she’d halfway become. There was betrayal from a woman she’d thought she could trust, Andre, and that motel room that would haunt her dreams for years to come, and absolutely none of it in any way shape or form was okay. They’d defeated him, in the end. Cloaking with Ty had been the newest and yet what felt like the easiest thing she’d ever done, burying her dagger-sword deep into the chest of the twisted Loa. Tandy needed change. There were too many poisoned memories in this town, too many dark corners seen and too many ugly faces revealed. It would be home, sort of (A place wasn’t her home. A person was.), but it was past time for her to move on.

Ty, for once without any argument, agreed.

“Do you think we can do it? Go be divine and paired somewhere else?”

For a moment, her hand can only hover over his, nearly unwilling to change the rules between them. To take that last step, to bare her heart to him in the most vulnerable kinds of ways, though he had long since become Tandy’s weakness. Then she looks at him, really _looks_ , and she sees her best friend. She sees the boy-turning-into-man that walked her all the way home from a few feet behind, comforting her without ever compromising her space; she sees her protector, her calm port in a storm, the voice that never fails to calm her on the other end of the line. Her biggest believer, the clear dark to her chaotic light, the strongest man she’d ever known. The only one she’d ever fully trusted. 

If she could be brave with anyone, it was going to be Tyrone Johnson.

The slide of Tandy’s hand in his is the natural thing in the world, and she can’t help the tiny smile that comes when she marvels at the difference in sizes. Ty’s fingers and palm are longer and bigger respectively than hers, protective and assuring as they weaved between her own. The contrast between her skin and his just displays how their pieces fit, and the moment is too much for Tandy. She ducks her head the slightest bit and looks out the window, unable to stop the curve in her cheeks at the tiny squeeze he gives her.

(Her Ty. Hers.)

The bus takes them to a couple towns over from their destination and Tyrone persuades her to take one night off. Their pooled funds suggest a motel being more responsible, but it looks too similar to the one she’d just barely managed to leave behind. Tandy turns green in the parking lot and dry heaves into some bushes on the side of the building, hands trembling, white knuckled on her thighs while she hangs her head and tries not to shake, focusing on the rhythmic motion of his hand on her back. 

“It’s okay, Tandy.” He says afterwards, hugging her to his side as they walk away. “We’ll figure something else out.” She’s too worn from the experience to even act like her arms aren’t looped around his waist for dear life, half hiding her face in his jacket. 

This is harder than she expected it to be. Tandy hates Andre harder for it. Forgives herself a little more for feeling that way.

(She’ll have to tell Ty, eventually. He knows something bad happened there, had seen it in the nightmares that were spun for her pain especially, the trauma that had her uneasy some nights, but he hasn’t pressed her. He figures that she’ll tell him in her own time, and Tandy will. She promises. But not yet. Being with him chases the bad dreams away. She’d rather focus on that.)

Eventually, they decide to ‘borrow’ a hotel room for a night. They go to get snacks, and once they’re ready, Tyrone cloaks them to one of the unused rooms as according to whatever wasn’t booked when Tandy called earlier. She takes a shower, intending to use the free water for all it was worth, while Tyrone plugs his phone into the wall. He’s watching the latest St. Sebastian game when Tandy comes out, hair and body wrapped in a towel. Whatever’s happening on Tyrone’s screen instantly loses any battle for his attention, especially when Tandy’s cheeks are still rosy from the hot water. Her dark eyelashes still clung together, and his eyes darken when they take in the full way that the hotel towel wraps around her body. He wants her. He’s wanted her for months while he knew her and years before he didn’t, never knowing what it is he needed still she came to shake up his life once again.

Her honey eyes flit to his in the reflection of the mirror and then away, unwrapping her hair. “What’re you looking at, Tyrone Johnson?” Her tone is teasing but there’s a tremble underneath of it, like she’s excited and scared for the answer at the same time, though Tandy isn’t happy with feeling either of those emotions. 

He didn’t make much of an effort to get ready for bed while she’d been busy, but at least his shoes were off. He sat on the edge of the bed, one leg hitched up, still clothed in a black t-shirt and dark green jeans. (To which Tandy had to say yum. It would be cliche to say that black was his color because to be fair, Tyrone looked good in most of them...but _damn_ it really was his color) He regretted that there was so much fabric between them. He wasn’t a fan of the space between them too, but both of these things he could do something about.

“I’m looking at you, Tandy Bowen.” He says simply, phone having since been put down.

She rolls her eyes and chuckles, but doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Tandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

A moment of hesitation almost too swift for Tyrone to catch, and then she turns, unwilling and fierce. Tandy isn’t poised to run anymore (not from Ty, never from Ty, not anymore), but her body still remembers the steps. A droplet of water streaks down the column of her throat down the dip in her cleavage and Tyrone forgets how to swallow.

(His girl.)

(His crazy, defensive, complicated crazy white girl.)

(But his girl nonetheless.)

“Come here.”

Tyrone widens his stance, makes space between her for his legs, and there’s not a moment of faltering this time. She comes to him, trusting, present, and he gathers her hands in his own. Lifts them to his mouth to kiss. (There’s something almost too sensuous in the way that his full lips lay lovingly against every knuckle, and Tandy desperately has to try and strangle the embarrassing little whimper that wants to come out of her throat. She isn’t successful. His eyes smoke harder.) “Waffles?”

A deep breath, not shaking, not quite unsure. A step into the beyond, a path she doesn’t know, dark with no knowledge of what road to take.

(The darkness isn’t scary anymore. It’s just Ty, wispy and onyx and kind, and when she’s wrapped in it she truly feels as if nothing can hurt her.)

She trusts him. Sometimes, she trusts even herself.

“Waffles.” Tandy says confidently, and it’s a reward in itself to just see Ty’s half smile. “Ty?”

“Yes Tandy?”

“I want to touch you. I’ve really wanted to touch you for awhile now” (A while! Ty’s heart cheers) “and I don’t want you to ask me if I’m ready or okay with it. I am.” She brushes her hands down the column of his throat and is pleased to find that it’s just as strong and velvety as she thought it would be. The pulse in his throat jumps, and she can’t keep the hint of smugness out of her smile. _She_ did that. Power over men wasn’t something Tandy was unfamiliar with, but power over Tyrone was. And it didn’t really feel as much as it was power over him as it was power that they shared. (They shared everything. Just like everything else, together.) She made the pulse in his neck jump. Tyrone’s fingertips skate up and down, up and down, over her exposed thighs and her sense of gravity shifts a bit. Goosebumps rise in his wake, and she couldn’t have attempted to control it if she tried. 

“Are you sure?” He’s Tyrone, so of course she knows every note of earnestness in his deep voice he feels to his core. 

Tandy nods, and for once she’s never felt more certain of anything in her life, her short hair a wet tickle against her cheek. “I’m sure.”

His hands curl around her thighs and he tugs ever so slightly, bringing them closer, lessening the distance between them. Tandy bites the slightest bit self consciously at her lower lip but his thumb stops her. Pulls it down a little, and saves her from making that last move herself. Ty’s head tilts up, pulling her hips to him, and Tandy’s lips eliminate those last millimeters to press her mouth to his.

The build up to what turned out to be their first kiss wasn’t a quickly ascended mountain, it was a little things built up and upon each other that turned into Tyrone’s hands on her hips and hers in tiny fists in the top of his jacket. He tastes nothing ( _nothing_ , Tandy shouldn’t be shocked, but she is), like coffee. No, it isn’t as much a taste as it is the pressure of his lips on hers. They’re full, and completely confident as they move against hers, the tiny breaks between kisses filled with short breaths and hunger that Tandy hadn’t truly known the two of them were capable of.

Suddenly the only thing she cared about was his mouth parting for her, and she’d be damned if she didn’t pursue that goal with all the fire she had in her. She bites a little at his lower lip and Tyrone opens for her, sucking for a moment on her tongue. Her knees melt at the motion, and Tandy decides there and then that this was more than worth the wait. Worth the itchiness that darted under skin, chanting Ty’s name, that prompts her to pull at the back of his black tee with impatient hands. “Off, Ty,” she whines a little, and he chuckles at the sound.

“So demanding,” murmurs his voice, somehow darker than the look in his pupil-blown eyes. His shadows seep from him, writhing and licking at all the points their bodies touch. It teases at the tuck of her towel even as Tyrone pulls his shirt over his head, and licks lovingly over her skin, an extension of Ty and a blatant reveal of his feelings for her.

“Is this you, or…?” Technically, Tandy’s attention is about 110% focused on the wiry chest that was now hers to peruse, chipped black nail polish dragging along tight abs and defined pecs, her pale hands contrasting with the rich hue of his skin, and what was she talking about again?

Tyrone’s got her back, like always. “A little bit of them, a little bit of me.” He pulls at her and Tandy falls into his lap like she’s always meant to be there, thick thighs bracketing his own, the edges of the towel rucked up tantalizingly high. He captures her mouth with his once again and Tandy smiles, really smiles into the kiss with an arm draped around his neck and her other hand twisting shiny metal warmed from his skin around her finger, nose brushing alongside his. “It’s always liked you. Liked your light, your heat. Your skin.”

“And what about you?” One of her hands plucks at his belt and he nods for her to undo it, too focused on moving from her soft lips to her neck. (So soft. Crazy soft, and lush, and god he wanted to keep hearing her pant. Another whimper too, please.) “What do you like Ty?” he fastens his lips to the skin of her collarbone and sucks for a moment, licking along it. Tandy moans lightly, hands clinging tight to the back of his neck, and he thinks that there is no end to the things he would do in order to hear that noise again.

“I could tell you. Or….” Tyrone kisses the skin right above where the towel is still valiantly trying to stay tucked around her breasts and sends her a question with dark eyes. “I could show you.”

She doesn’t know how to tremble, but once upon a time she used to crush up little colored pills and float away in an artificial world. Tandy knows how to shake. And shake she does when he asks, but this is _Ty_ , her Ty, the one person she trusts most in the world. He won’t see her freckled (if she’s not careful), _blotchy_ skin and mock her for it. He won’t tell her that her thighs are too thick, that the pounds that rounded out her form since she’d started living in an actual home, not an abandoned church make her look less attractive. (He thinks the opposite, actually - he’d told her that, several times, when her jeans started fitting differently and he caught himself staring at the snug fit of her ass more than he’d used to be). 

Tyrone knew every version of her, even the ones that Tandy would rather forget. He was the one person who understood her. 

She was safe with him. Tandy knew that.

(And she wanted him badly, so badly her insides whimpered for his touch and now that she’d been given permission, she doubted that she could stop touching his skin if she tried. His skin is unblemished, smooth, and Tandy is struck by the animal like need to mark him. _Mineminemine_ her light whispers, overjoyed to be so close, and she’s never been more grateful that she’s the only one who can sort of hear it.)

It’s she who untucks the terry cloth, widens her legs to settle into the straddle she had going on his lap, towel falling to the floor, hands back to being clasped behind his neck. Tyrone doesn’t even look at first, doesn’t touch, eyes closed as he kisses her once, twice, Tandy losing count by number five and dizzy at the ardour in them. When he pulls away, starts to look his fill, she has to blink a couple of times to focus again, cheeks blazing bright. (Thank God only the bedside lamp was on. Maybe it would hide the worst bits of her, the parts she looked at in the mirror and wished were different. (Self love and confidence are two very different things, after all.)

“Tandy…” he’s at a loss for words for a minute, unable to stop drinking her in. The peachy cream of her skin. The dusky tips of small nipples. The trimmed thatch of dark gold, surrounded by strong thighs that squeezed instinctively when Tandy realized his eyes on her there. Her waist is curved, there’s a mole three inches above her left breast, and when she shifts in his lap, the place where she’d sat comes away damp. “You are incredible.” He doesn’t call her gorgeous, or beautiful, though these are compliments Tyrone would absolutely attribute to her and that she deserves. Tyrone sees her - _sees her_ , through and through, and he knows what would mean the most. What she deserved to hear. “A man could die happy just being able to look at you, Tandy Bowen.”

She smiles, and there’s enough of a smirk in it that Tyrone sees his girl. _That’s my Tandy_. “I wonder what would happen if a man was able to touch, and not just see.”

He doesn’t need another invitation. Ignoring the erection that pressed tight into the zipper on his pants, he helps her so that instead of sitting on him, she’s perches almost above, back straight, hands on his shoulders, and his kiss is pressed into the very heart of her sternum. “Let me take care of you.” Tyrone murmurs, drawing the knuckles of two fingers up her inner thigh, coming close to where he knew she needed him. Where Tyrone so badly wanted to be.

Said legs shiver, then jolt in surprise when he takes two handfuls of her ass, squeezing experimentally. Tandy squeaks, but can’t deny that she loves the hold, and shoots a gaze at Ty accusingly that he’s not touching where he’d been headed to before. “Sorry,” he adds, giving it one last reverent massage and squeeze. (Holy fuck does it feel good in his hands. Plush, full, and just as velvety smooth as the rest of her) “I’ve been dreaming out doing that for a long time.”

She shifts impatiently above him. “Stop playing around Ty, or s’.... _oh fuck_.”

Ty had stopped, as she’d asked, playing around. His thumb brushed along the swollen bud of her clit, talented fingers stroking along her folds. He hasn’t even gotten a finger inside her yet and her brain wants to short circuit. “Fuck me,” Tandy gasps out, nails digging into the ridge of his shoulders when he dips in an experimental digit.

“Later,” he promises, and pushes one finger all the way in.

She’s tight. Tighter than he’d expected, and wetter, _soaked_ if he was being honest, and her inner muscles clench onto him when he starts a slow pumping motion, drinking in the tiny cries she’s making into his ear. “More.” Tandy insists, and he’s happy to oblige, adding a second finger that makes her hiss. His thumb works at her clit while his fore and middle fingers continue their motion, the other hand steadying on her ass while his mouth kisses and sucks at every part of her chest that she can reach. “Ty,” Tandy moans, voice thick and ragged, hips moving as she rode his hand the tiniest bit, forehead pressed to his neck and arms still clinging to his torso. 

(He meant it. When he said that a man could die happy seeing her, Tyrone had fucking meant it. Hearing her say his name like that? With two of his fingers buried inside her and the sounds of his finger fucking was the only thing competing with her noises to be heard? 

You could stop his life today, and he’d be over the fucking moon.

That is, as if Ty could leave her. And Ty would always do everything in his power to make sure he never would)

He knows she’d getting close by the pulse of her muscles around him, and a glow that shows against his dark skin. It’s not coming from Tyrone, he knows, it’s from _Tandy_ , those warm honey eyes he looked for in every room screwed shut, mouth dropped slightly open, unaware that her skin was trying to turn into stardust. Unaware that she looked like some sort of moon creature in Ty’s arms and he’d never felt luckier. His shadows, eager to join the party, smoke out from every part of him, even the fingers pumping deep inside her, and she curses a blue streak when it happens, a shudder rocking through her whole body. 

“It’s too much,” Tandy rasps softly, nearly unable to hear over the _TYTYTYTY, FUCK, TY_ , running through her head, knowing something was different, feeling the misty touch against her skin and holy fuck, inside of her. “It’s all you. You’re everywhere.” She whimpers, and draws the strength to pick her head back up, to rest her forehead against his while he speeds up the pace. A couple more pushes, a curl of just his finger pads, and Tandy near collapses into his arms, a light coming from her so bright it lingers in the corners of his vision even after rapid blinking afterwards. Tremors rock through her as she comes, inky black soothing as it rushes over her short hair, stroking down her neck and cradling her form much the way he is, and Tandy isn’t capable of doing much more than holding onto him while she tries to find the ground again.

(So good. So fucking good. 

Better than she’d expected it to be, but you can’t really _expect_ to have your mind burst into a supernova at the touch of Ty’s fingers inside of you. You can’t really _expect_ to come so hard you temporarily forget your last name and almost pass out then and there.

Again, so fucking good. Tandy can’t wait for the next time already.)

“Tyrone Johnson. Nobody ever told me you had game that damn good.”

He curls his fingers once more, affectionately and in ownership just before he withdraws, and her toes respond in kind, aftershocks still rippling through her. Tyrone cleans them on his tongue (sweet and musky, like he’d imagined but so much better), and wipes them on his pants before cuddling her closer to him, falling back to the bed so his legs still hung off the edge and her naked form was nestled into his. “I don’t seem to remember anyone ever asking. But I’m glad you enjoyed it.” The hand not holding on to her twirls a lock of her short blonde around it and tugs the slightest bit, but Tandy’s head is too muzzy to do anything but blow out a breath on his chest. Her awareness comes back in bits and pieces, and she finds herself tracing mindless circles on his skin. He’s got a pleased smile on his face, and she’s possessed with the sudden need to trace that too.

What’s stopping her? Nothing. So she does. It spreads at that, and Ty’s tongue swipes teasingly at them once before leaving them be. “Cheeky.” Tandy grins at him, and he nips in response. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Oh?” He opens his eyes more fully to meet her, warm meeting warm. “And why’s that?”

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” Tandy swings herself up to sit atop him once again, curls hanging past her cheeks, and Tyrone wants to take a picture. Wants to remember this forever, her hands on his chest and pink flush to her cheeks that no one but _he_ had put there. The way her arms were pressed when she leaned on her palms pushed her breasts up and another near painful surge of arousal goes through him, senses working overtime.

(God she was an angel. A dark angel, with pain instead of wings and strength instead of a halo, and there’s no one he’d rather have watching over him than her, no matter how avenging she was. Tyrone was going to remember this the rest of his life. It wasn’t his first time, nor did he think it was hers, but it was their first with each _other_ and that made it realms apart from anything they’d done before. Realms better. Everything had paled in comparison to Tandy for some time now, and he knew sex wasn’t going to be any different.)

“No ma’am.”

“Ew.” Tandy’s nose wrinkles, even as fingers that once lifted wallets undid his zipper, tugging at the waistline. “Don’t you ever let me hear you call me that again. I’m banning it from the bedroom from now on.”

“Someone’s bossy.” Tyrone lifts his hips to help her, and she shimmies off his pants. His briefs are slate grey and snug, and so a shoddy job at hiding the proud jut of his length. It’s heavy and hot against her palms when she runs them over him, shucking the boxers off somewhere she doesn’t space a thought to keep track of, wondering at his size. She hadn’t been able to get a real read on it that one morning in her bedroom (don’t ask her to count the amount of times she’d run that over and over again in her mind), and Tandy is taking her chance now. This isn’t just _anyone’s_ dick after all, it’s Ty’s. And she’s dreamed about getting her hands, her mouth, her body on him for longer than she’d ever fess up to.

It’s thick and heavy, and jerks slightly at her touch, spurring a thick “ _fuck_ ” from Tyrone’s direction. Honey hues glance up, and she doesn’t ever want the waves of heat that spur from the sight to stop. He’s propped himself up a bit on his forearms, and his stomach muscles contract at her exploration, top teeth sinking occasionally into his lip.

Tandy can’t have that, so she leans forward to kiss it instead, and is rewarded with Ty’s hand in her hair, holding her to him, and it’s nice (it’s lovely, passionate and ravenous and _right_ ) but it’s a smidgen awkward and she’s impatient for him. She wants him all over her skin (she wants that coffee _on_ her, she wants others to smell it on her and know that she’s his), and it’s the only reason she breaks it, the lightest of keens escaping at the motion. “I have protection.” Tandy pants lightly against his mouth, more than accepting the kisses Ty keeps dotting on her lips. “I got an IUD.” It had been last year, one of the first things she did after moving back home and her mom getting her shit together, because protection was important, you know? And it made sense, one less thing to think about, to worry about.

“You don’t want a condom?”

She shakes her head. “I trust you. And I don’t want anything separating us.”

Ty smiles, touching her cheek. “Together. Just like everything else.”

She moves up higher, and he shifts with her, wanting to have his head propped up a bit so he can see as much as her as possible. Ty likes the idea of having this how it happens, her on top, and he sets his hands to her hips, stroking his thumbs down the line of her pelvis. Tandy shifts a little, making sure their aligned, and blows out a breath. “Okay.” It’s almost to herself, almost to him, but Ty doesn’t mind. He can be patient.

This virtue rewards him when she sinks down the first inch, and _fuckfuckfuck_ Tyrone has a new favorite feeling in the world. His breath hisses out, his “ _Tandy_ ” a nearly wheezed out reverent thing that corresponds with the tightening of long fingers on her hips. Her knees adjust just a millimeter, one last drop, and Tyrone’s buried inside of her. To be honest, he’s a bit staggered by the whole experience, but he’s done this before. Not with her (not until now, though in the future with her, _only_ with her), but now it is, and it will be done right.

“Ty.” Her voice is low and a bit blissed, and he opens his eyes to see her head tilted slightly back, eyes closed while she rocks on him for the first time, and he never wants to go anywhere ever again. Tandy moves on him like it’s something she knows implicitly how to do, and it’s all he can do to hold on to the ride, his hips matching her at every thrust. He can’t stay reclined like this for long because his hands can’t possible touch all of her so he sits up, holding her to him as their bodies move, and the only thing either of them can think about is the other and how they don’t want this feeling to ever end. She wraps her arms around his neck, wrists brushing against elbows, and doesn’t stop the stream of whimper of his nickname and messier kisses they keep trying to plant on each other. He slips his hand between them, stroking at her bundle of nerves, and she shudders all over again.

(Tyrone’s never been so proud)

She’s close, and he knows its a slower burn than last time due to the glow building beneath her skin, the starry shimmer under her freckles, and he isn’t far behind. It’s Tandy’s own fall, crashing over the cliff when her mouth drops open and she tremors and she clenches around him _there_ that brings his own rushing at him. Black tendrils rise from him and get involved once more, something Ty could control no more than his reaction to Tandy on top of him, and it just adds to the experience. They are as much he as Tandy’s light balls and daggers, after all, and it’s just as excited as he. Tandy’s still holding onto him for dear life in the after throes of it when Tyrone’s jerk a bit faster and then stop, chest heaving as he comes. Her name whispers across her shoulder, followed by a feather light kiss on her brow while Ty just attempts to stay upright while his mind is still floating in pleasure.

After coming twice, Tandy doesn’t really think she’s capable of doing anything but laying on Ty’s chest and remembering what her name was. She knew his (Ty, her Ty, _hers_ her lights whisper smugly) name, but she was okay with forgetting hers for a moment longer. She protests, when he withdraws from her with a soft hush, but it’s to wet a towel and clean her off, left in the bathroom when he comes back to wrap around her. She’s wearing his shirt, the same one from that night, and his shadows deepen in satisfied pleasure with his smell around her. The lights turned off, and it’s just the two of them, and Tandy’s taking the clearest breaths of her life.

“I…” her voice breaks off, fingers drawing against his chest, and some part of Tyrone knows what could follow. How big those things were, after what had happened just today, just minutes ago, just hours. And it was a lot for her, for his Tandy with her sky high walls and brave eyes, and he doesn’t need it.

“I know, Tandy.” He closes his eyes, and they listen to each other breathe for a moment that’s the most comfortable space in the world. _Her Ty._ Tandy’s heart swells, and she’s halfway to sleep when she hears him say “Me too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> for me of me yelling about my kids, go to dvinepairing on tumblr and check out my cloak and dagger tag.
> 
> if we don't get a season three, i will cause a riot.


End file.
